Camellia

by Diane T. Ashley

  “Do you understand what this means?” the pastor asked. “The Lord God, the greatest being in existence, knew each of you before your own mothers did. And He loves you. He loves you so very much. More even than the love you feel for your children.” He glanced toward the first pew, his gaze gliding past John and landing on Anna’s face. “And I know how deep that love is. I know also that God’s love puts my puny feelings to shame.

  “This whole psalm is one I turn to often. I would read the whole chapter to you this morning, but I want to challenge each of you to go home today and read it for yourselves. Read each word. Ponder the power of our God who knows every breath each of us takes. Not just my breath … or Anna’s. No, he also knows the breath of this stranger who has joined us this morning. He knows why this man is here and each step that led him to this place.”

  John’s mouth dropped open. He wished more than ever that he had stayed on the Catfish. He wished he had found a seat in the back of the sanctuary, a place of anonymity. But somehow he knew God wanted him at this place, at this moment. The words might be issuing from the pastor’s mouth, but they were coming directly from God.

  Heat enveloped him. His collar was strangling him. John pulled at it with a desperate finger and wondered if he could escape. Anna must have sensed his anguish, because she touched his hand with hers. The touch did not immediately eliminate his vulnerability, but the desperation eased a bit—enough for him to remain seated on the pew.

  “After you finish studying this psalm, I want you to turn to the words of the prophet Jeremiah. I want you to read my favorite verse, chapter 29, verse 11. ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ God wants you to come to Him. He made you. He is your father. Gladden His heart by turning to Him this morning. Repent and join the ranks of His fruitful children. Jesus is standing at the door and knocking. Won’t you invite Him in?”

  John could feel the words seeping into his soul. He was a beloved child of the Father. Even with his dark and painful past, he could still turn to God. He dropped his head and prayed to the Father to forgive his sins. He told God he wanted to be a different man. He wanted to start over and live the rest of his life according to His direction. He wanted Christ in his heart.

  Tears threatened to overwhelm John, but he fought them back. Someone brushed past his left arm. John looked up and saw that two other men had come to the front of the church and were on their knees in front of the podium. Pastor Matthews was standing in front of them, his hands spread in front of him, palms up. They were praying together, a wonderful prayer of new beginnings. More than he had wanted anything in his life, John wanted to join them.

  He put his hands against the pew and pushed himself up. At first he couldn’t believe it was actually him moving. It seemed Something … Someone stronger than he was helping to lift him from the mire of his past. John stepped forward and fell to his knees, his heart full of hope—a clean, refreshing, full hope—for the first time in his life.

  “Lord God,” the pastor’s voice washed over him, “these men come to You with repentance and hope in their hearts. They want to turn their lives over to You. They are seeking You and calling on Your promise to dwell within them forevermore. They were sinners, but now they want to be washed clean in Your holy, cleansing blood. Thank You, Lord, for speaking to their hearts and bringing them to You. We are grateful for these new brothers of the faith. Be with them as they begin these new paths to Your glory. Amen.”

  When John opened his eyes, the pastor was looking over their heads at the others in the church. “What a glorious morning this is. We get to welcome three more sheep into the fold.”

  John pushed himself up, dusted off the knees of his slacks, and turned to see Anna at his elbow.

  Her face glowed with joy. “I’m so happy for you, John.”

  Pastor Matthews joined them. “Is this the young man you’ve told me about?”

  “Yes, Father. This is John Champion.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, John Champion.” The pastor shook his hand.

  John wanted to tell them the truth right then. The compulsion was very strong to come clean on this day of new beginnings. But fear grabbed him again. If he told them his real name, he would be stepping back into his past. He would be mired in his previous life. He might even once again become the monster he had been. So he nodded. “It’s my pleasure, sir.”

  Reverend Matthews then left them to speak to others of his congregation.

  Anna took one of his hands and squeezed it, her face full of joy. “Isn’t it wonderful to be a Christian?”

  Touched by the sincerity of her voice, John smiled. “Yes, it is. I can hardly believe how … how content I feel.”

  “I know. Walking with the Lord is a privilege.” She waved one hand in an arc. “You’re reborn, and from here on you can live a life of praise and thanksgiving, sure of your eternal home.”

  Before he could answer her, the Pecantys joined them. Mrs. Naomi hugged him, and the captain shook his hand. For a little while, John forgot the scars on his face. He forgot about his past and focused on his future. A future that was looking brighter than ever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even though almost two weeks had passed since the formal ball, Camellia’s lips still tingled if she allowed herself to remember Jonah’s kiss. His touch had been tender, the complete opposite of his cold voice.

  “I’m sorry.” The icy tone and the remorse in his eyes had thumped her back to reality.

  She was sorry, too. Sorry she hadn’t slapped him for taking advantage of their relationship in such a way.

  Camellia had wanted to confide in her best friend, but how could she when he was supposed to have been Jane’s escort? How could she admit she had been swept away by his touch? That kissing was much more delightful than they’d ever imagined?

  The answer was simple. She couldn’t. No one could know what had happened in this very room.

  This afternoon was the first time she’d returned to the library. Mrs. Dabbs was working with some of the others on their penmanship but had sent Camellia to finish her sampler. Jane had received permission to join her.

  Camellia’s gaze strayed to the corner where she and Jonah had stood. With a bit of imagination, she could once again feel his warm hand on her shoulder. What had come over her? She’d been angry with Jonah Thornton right until the point at which he wrapped her in his arms. Until her mind stopped thinking and her feelings took over. Why? What magic did Jonah have to so easily make her forget everything? Why had she felt so safe in his embrace?

  “Do you think Thad will come to call this afternoon?” Jane’s voice brought her out of her spinning thoughts.

  Camellia shoved her needle through the square of fabric she held, careful not to stitch it to her gown as she had earlier this year. At least the time at La Belle Demoiselle had improved her sewing skills, even if she still didn’t care for samplers. “I don’t know.”

  “What about Mr. Thornton?”

  A hot flush burst upward and burned her cheeks. Did Jane suspect something? “What about him?” Camellia winced at the defensive note in her voice. “I mean … I’m sure he has many more important things to do than frequent the school.”

  Jane glanced her way. “Are you feeling feverish? When Pauline’s parents came to collect her last week, I overheard them tell Mrs. Dabbs that yellow jack is expected to be worse than ever this year.”

  Camellia rolled her eyes. “We’ll be gone to Vicksburg before there’s any danger.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” The two of them worked in silence for a little while, the mantel clock ticking away the minutes as the afternoon passed. “Thad has been busy lately with some secret plan, but he said he hopes to have some free time before the end of the month.”

  A knock at the front door made them look up.

  “Who do you think that is?” Jane’s brown eyes twinkled with excitement.
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  “Probably one of those soldiers who seemed so smitten with you at the ball.”

  Both of them giggled and put away their needlework. It didn’t take long before footsteps echoed in the hallway. Whoever had answered the door was coming for them.

  Camellia’s heartbeat increased. What if it was Jonah? What would she say to him? How could she face him?

  The door burst open, and Brigitte rushed inside, her cap hanging on to her curls by a single pin and a wild look in her eyes. “C’est une catastrophe. Come quick.”

  “A disaster?” Camellia translated the phrase as she and Jane rushed out of the library. Had someone been hurt? Had a doctor been called to attend one of the students? “Who’s hurt?”

  “Non, non.”

  Brigitte shook her head, and her cap flew free, landing on the floor. With a cluck of her tongue, the flustered woman scooped it up before beckoning them to follow. “Soldiers are here. Vite. Hurry.”

  As they rushed behind her, their hands clasped, Camellia heard thumps and bumps coming from upstairs. It sounded as though the second floor had been invaded. What was going on?

  Brigitte passed the door to the visitors’ parlor and the private parlor, heading toward the dining room behind the stairwell. As she opened the oak door, the sound of feminine sobbing was punctuated by the deeper sound of male voices. “I have brought the last two.”

  Jane stopped in her tracks, her grasp holding Camellia back. “I’m scared.”

  “Camellia? Jane?” Camellia recognized Mrs. Dabbs’s voice, although it sounded strained to her ears.

  “Don’t be scared.” Wishing she could follow her own advice, Camellia swallowed against the lump in her throat and pulled on Jane’s hand. “It’s going to be all right.” She took the last steps to the open doorway and glanced inside, shock making her let go of Jane. What she saw did not calm her.

  The remaining students were congregated in the far corner of the room. Three soldiers surrounded Mrs. Dabbs, their rifles pointed toward the ceiling. But the serious cast to their features was more than a little intimidating. Brigitte’s eyes were large in her face as she positioned herself between the soldiers and the students as though intent on protecting them.

  But what protection did any of them need? These were not invading Yankees. These soldiers wore the gray uniforms of the Confederacy.

  Mrs. Dabbs stood as Camellia and Jane entered the room.

  One of the soldiers, his face hidden by a thick brown beard, swung the point of his rifle down. The bayonet flashed in the light coming from the windows.

  Red splotches stained Mrs. Dabbs’s cheeks. “Put that weapon away before you hurt someone.”

  He looked toward the taller one, who shrugged. After a moment, he shifted the weapon so it rested on his shoulder. “Is this all of them?”

  Mrs. Dabbs sent him a disdainful glance. “I have seven students remaining. Count for yourself.”

  “What’s going on?” Camellia took a step toward Mrs. Dabbs.

  The tall soldier, who had blue eyes and a freckled face, frowned at her.

  Camellia ignored him, moving forward and taking the older woman’s hands in her own. They were as cold as icicles. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Dabbs sighed. “But I’m afraid these gentlemen are going to insist on my accompanying them. As the oldest student, you’ll need to help Mademoiselle Laurent notify everyone that the school is closing immediately. Thank goodness many of them have already departed. You should have no trouble getting the rest of them to their relatives.”

  “But why?”

  A noise at the door took Mrs. Dabbs’s attention away from her face. An exclamation from behind her brought Camellia’s head around. Jane had run to the door and flung herself on the man standing there.

  Relief spread through Camellia, and she squeezed Mrs. Dabbs’s hands. “Captain Watkins, thank goodness. Now everything will be fine.”

  He hugged his sister briefly, keeping one arm around her as he entered the room. He ignored everyone else as he nodded to the soldiers in the room. “I’ll take over in here. Riley, Hamilton, stand guard at the front door. Don’t let anyone in or out until I’ve cleared them. Adkins, go help the search out back.”

  The three men hurried to do his bidding.

  Camellia let go of Mrs. Dabbs’s hands and summoned a bright smile for his benefit. He was forgiven for his boorish behavior the last time she’d seen him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “And I wish you and Jane were not.” His handsome mouth did not relax into a smile. He didn’t look angry. But he glanced toward Mrs. Dabbs, and his face hardened. “I wish I could spare all of you girls, but your families will no doubt read of it in the newspaper. Traitors cannot be tolerated. Not when so much is at stake.”

  Camellia put a hand to her mouth. It couldn’t be true. But then she saw the defiant gleam in Mrs. Dabbs’s eyes. The lady looked as though she was proud of her actions. Camellia took a step away from her.

  Jane sidled to her and put an arm around Camellia’s waist as she directed a question toward their teacher. “What have you done?”

  Mrs. Dabbs rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you ask the brave captain?” She directed a frown at him. “I assume you have thoroughly searched the rooms upstairs?”

  Captain Watkins nodded. Then he looked at Camellia and his sister. “We intercepted a letter she tried to send to Captain Poindexter, a man who happens to be her cousin.”

  That didn’t sound too bad. Camellia supposed she had relatives who were Yankees. Would she be arrested if she wrote to one of them? She sent a questioning gaze toward the captain.

  “It contained information we planted during her party.”

  Now he had everyone’s attention. Even the younger girls stopped sniffling to listen to his story.

  “We’ve had reports of a traitor—maybe one person, maybe more—who is passing information to the Yankees about our troop movements. Of course the letters are in code. They appear to be innocent, but in reality they are detailed descriptions of our plans, weapons, and troop strength. We got a lead on Poindexter and decided to set a trap, something that would flush out the guilty party. We planted false information about the impending arrival in New Orleans of General Joseph Johnston and his troops. Then we waited for someone to take the bait.”

  He drew a folded sheet of stationery from his coat pocket and opened it with a snap. “This is all the proof we need to arrest Mrs. Dabbs. It’s taken more than a week, but we finally broke her code. This letter warns her cousin of Johnston’s arrival and begs him to come and conquer the city while our defenses are weak.”

  Camellia’s stomach clenched so hard she felt nauseated. “What will happen to her?”

  “We’ll take her to prison.” The captain’s eyes blazed with scorn. “I hope they hang her.”

  Jane gasped, and several of the students began crying again.

  Camellia tightened her jaw against the nausea, reminding herself that she had to be strong for the other girls. She could feel their gazes on her, awaiting her response. “We’ll pray for her.”

  Captain Watkins’s expression softened a smidgen. “Your sympathy is admirable if misplaced. I’ll check on you and Jane as soon as I can.” He took Mrs. Dabbs’s arm and urged her to the door.

  As he led their schoolteacher away, Camellia turned toward the distraught students, wondering what had driven Mrs. Dabbs to take such drastic steps. Why had she turned on the system that supported her students? Her school?

  And what did this turn of events say about Camellia’s ability to judge others? She had respected Mrs. Dabbs more than most, as much as Aunt Dahlia. She could no longer trust anyone, even if her own powers of discernment said differently.

  “I hope Thad doesn’t arrive before we get back from delivering Molly to her parents.” Camellia glanced toward the little girl who huddled in one corner of the carriage.

  “I’m sure he’ll wait.” Jane coughed and waved a scented handkerchi
ef in front of her face. “The smoke seems worse than this morning.”

  Camellia nodded her agreement. “I wish they would stop ringing the alarm bells. Surely no one in New Orleans is unaware of the danger.” She thought about the report Brigitte had brought them while they were getting ready to leave.

  Mrs. Dabbs’s assistant had gone to Jackson Square to discover why the alarm was being sounded. Apparently everyone expected the Yankees to arrive at any moment. The shipyards across the river at Algiers were in flames. Bales of cotton had been dragged out of warehouses and put to the torch. Even boats on the river had been set afire and loosed from their moorings to drift down the river.

  “I hope my parents are all right.” Tears puddled in Molly’s eyes.

  “I know you’re frightened.” Camellia hid her fear behind a brief smile. “Don’t worry. I doubt the Yankees are really coming. Don’t you remember all of the handsome soldiers who came to dance with us?”

  Molly looked a little happier as she nodded.

  “Those silly Yankees wouldn’t dare to attack them, now, would they?”

  Molly shook her head and sat up straight as the carriage made a turn. “Are we there?”

  Camellia leaned forward, careful to keep her spine straight as she’d been taught. No matter what the future held, she was determined to present a polished and serene image. A curve in the drive showed her a double row of moss-draped oaks, a fitting entrance to a grand plantation home. “I believe we are.”

  She and Jane helped gather Molly’s belongings, but before they could alight, a short lady with dark curls and worried brown eyes was at the door to the carriage. When Camellia saw the woman’s rounded stomach, she realized why Molly’s mother had not been able to come collect her daughter. She was going to have a baby, a little brother or sister for Molly.